


Toll

by Glinda



Category: Neverwhere
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glinda/pseuds/Glinda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bridge takes its toll; be grateful it did not take you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toll

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'bridge' at [](http://overlooked.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**overlooked**](http://overlooked.dreamwidth.org/).

A sensible man once said that night is always old.

The night on the bridge is older. Older and darker than a city night has any right to be. It contains the memories of every fog that ever shrouded the streets of either London, every dark deed done undercover of a London night, each bloodcurdling scream and brutal following silence. It is the night that lurks in the sort of underpasses that people enter and never come out the other side, the kind that slides down battlefield trenches and picks off young soldiers in leaky boots, the kind that huddles close round teenage runaways, ill-equipped for the winter city night. It lurks on the bridge, patient and more expectant than any non-sentient creature has any right to be. Even Hunter who is far older than she looks, old enough to have become a legend, does not dare to cross the bridge alone. They say that long ago she stared down the night on the bridge as she has stared down so many beasts, and lived to tell the tale. This is a lie, or at least if it is true it was so long ago that even she has forgotten. (For all that life in London Below is often short and brutal, those who gain the knack of staying alive tend to do so for a very long time, so when they say 'long ago' they mean it.) She would assure you that there is no creature there to be fought, only the inevitable unforgiving night that comes when day is over. She has survived enough battlefields and seen enough warriors strong and brave carried away in the night, cold and stiff in its embrace, you should take her word.

(They say that the Marquis de Carabas once talked his way out of being the toll on the bridge, he'd be the first to tell you that this is a lie, though he cultivates it nonetheless. In truth he has made very certain to never need to cross the Night's Bridge. He resents paying a toll for which he gains nothing but the retention of his life.)

The night remembers each soul that passes through it. Most people who make the journey understand that, or least understand after their passage. Few people make the journey more than once or twice, for fear that the night will remember and make them the toll it takes. They need not fear this. The night doesn't remember individuals or names. It doesn't care if you were brave or craven in life, in the darkness we are all the same. Scared and human. Hard to be brave against a foe you can't fight, against whom there is no defence. Cold and dark and old, the night cannot hear cries for mercy or shouts of defiance. The toll is taken arbitrarily and without malice. The night isn't evil it just is. No one passes through the night alone or without sacrifice.

The night on the bridge is old and it always takes its toll. Be thankful it did not take you.  



End file.
